


It wasn't supposed to be like this.

by TracingPatterns



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:39:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3106262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TracingPatterns/pseuds/TracingPatterns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cesc finds himself eye to eye with Robin again, after he left for Barcelona, when Manchester United take on Chelsea in the Premier League. I've taken some artistic liberties with the actual game.</p><p>I needed to get this out of my system. This is my good bye to the boys I've loved, loved, loved over the years. They are no more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He watches him, just like he used to. Before everything happened.

He still watches. Never really stopped, despite telling himself he should.

While Robin was still with Arsenal it was easy. 

”I still care about the team,” he would say whenever Gerard or Lio asked him. ”I just like to keep up with them and see how they’re doing.”

No-one asked any questions then.

When Robin moved up north it got more difficult. More times than he can remember did he snap the laptop shut when Gerard arrived back in the room sooner than expected, looking up guiltily. 

He never even tried to defend himself when Gerard teased him for watching porn. Instead he just flipped him off, told his friend to shove it but he shook his head. _You don’t know how close you are_ , he would think to himself.

He would sit in darkness, watching MotD, replaying the interviews until he knew Robin’s answers by heart. He would sit with his phone in his hand, his finger hovering over the call button by Robin’s name, but he never actually called.

He didn’t know what to say.

Suddenly he found himself in London again. Walking the familiar streets, playing the familiar teams, albeit with a new colour on his shirt. 

He’s been counting the days until The Game - the first fixture he sought out when the list was released. Now that day has come and he feels sick with nerves, with anticipation.

He stands in the tunnel before the game, hands almost shaking and it earns him a concerned look from Terry.

”You alright, mate?”

Cesc forces a smile, a quick nod.

”Yeah, no problem.”

He can’t get out onto the pitch quickly enough, the adrenaline pumping through his veins and he keeps his gaze on the back of Ivanovic’s head as they walk - the roar from the crowd as they enter the pitch is almost deafening.

He doesn’t hear them though, just lines up, his gaze straight ahead and he doesn’t trust it not to stray. He can feel the line moving, shaking hands absently but he’s got his attention completely focused on what he knows will come.

Even though he tells himself that he’s ready there isn’t anything that could’ve prepared him of the reaction when he finds himself suddenly face to face with the Dutchman again.

The touch when they shake hands sends his skin prickling, Robin’s gaze piercing against his and it’s over in a matter of seconds but the impact still sends him almost reeling. He releases a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding when he moves on and he shakes himself quickly.

_Focus._

The game is mostly a blur. Someone catches him from behind, sends him sprawling on the ground and it takes him a moment to find his feet again. He looks up, finding the Dutchman leaned over him, his brow furrowed in mock-concern and his eyes dancing as he holds out a hand to help him up.

”Sorry,” he offers, casually, as he pulls the Spaniard onto his feet.

Cesc doesn’t miss a beat, his lips curling, voice low.

”Bastard.”

He doesn’t miss the glint in Robin’s eyes but seconds later its gone and the Dutchman merely turns away.

Cesc knows he will get his chance, he takes his time, and when he slides in for the tackle he knows he’s got it perfect. He catches just enough of the ball, definitely more of Robin, and he can’t help but smirk as he sees the striker go down.

He watches him roll, not bothering to offer him a hand and when the Dutchman gets up on his feet again he just smiles, innocently, with one eyebrow raised.

The Dutchman shakes his head, the look in his eyes sending shivers down Cesc’s spine and he averts his gaze, disappearing behind his teammates.

When Robin scores that last minute equalizer he curses, the disappointment written all over his team mates' faces as the Dutchman throws himself into the celebrations. He watches, unable not to, his gaze glued to the striker and he almost misses the final whistle.

He makes the rounds after the game, shaking hands, patting backs, and he almost ponders staying clear of Robin altogether but then he finds himself face to face with him. He holds his hand out, a smirk on his lips as Robin takes it. He’s not prepared when Robin pulls at him though, their bodies suddenly flush together, Robin’s arms snaked around his waist in an impression of a hug.

He closes his eyes briefly, feeling almost light headed as he breathes in Robin’s familiar scent and when he hears the Dutchman’s voice against him, lips ghosting against his ear.

”The Lowry. Room 645. 6.30 sharp.”

He doesn’t have time to reply before he’s alone again, exhaling a little shakily as he heads for the tunnel, feeling dizzy.

He spends the next hour and a half telling himself that showing up at that hotel is a bad idea, yet he finds himself in the lobby at 6.28, hanging around the lift with the collar of his jacket pulled up to hide his face.

He raps his knuckles against the door to room 645, his insides squirming with anticipation and he holds his breath as he waits for Robin to open.

When he does Cesc doesn’t move, just watches him quietly, exhaling softly as the Dutchman steps aside and he slips inside. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he doesn’t get that far before he finds himself slammed up again the door, Robin’s body pressed against his and he lets out a low, shuddering noise.

He doesn’t speak, just lifts his eyes to Robin’s face to meet his gaze. He forces himself to look him in the eyes, not to look away despite wanting to, as he just reaches up to curl his fingers into Robin’s shirt - not tugging or pulling, just holding - his knuckles turning white the force.

The Dutchman smirks, his lips curling in that way that makes Cesc shiver as he keeps him pressed against the wall, his knee nudging his legs to spread and he presses up against Cesc’s groin.

The Spaniard can feel his breath hitch, his eyes growing darker and he both hates and loves that Robin can get the same reaction from him after all this time.

When Robin leans in Cesc sucks in a breath, lips parting in anticipation, but Robin’s lips merely ghost past his, against the side of his face instead. He traces his tongue lightly against Cesc’s ear, sending shivers up the Spaniard’s spine, breathing against him.

”Blue doesn’t suite you.”

Cesc twists, pulling uselessly at Robin’s shirt and he lets out a low noise.

”Robin…” he surprises even himself with how needy he sounds. He shouldn’t be. Not so soon. Not when Robin has barely touched him. 

The Dutchman laughs lightly against him, a low and throaty sound, and then he suddenly pulls away, easily tugging free from Cesc’s grip. The Spaniard exhales softly, palms flat against the wall behind him as he looks at Robin without a word - gaze almost black already.

”So how does it feel,” Robin’s voice deceptively soft. ”To be one of the Chelsea rent-boys then?”

Cesc flinches, gaze searching over him for a moment before he heaves a low sigh, looking away.

”It’s not like that,” he says, quietly.

Robin laughs again, this time it’s hard and sharp, almost mocking.

”No? How is it then?”

Cesc frowns, looking up at him again, a surge of something running through him, angry suddenly.

”You’re one to talk,” he spits, gaze narrowed. ”Look at you now. Manchester fucking United.”

Robin stiffens, waving dismissively.

”That’s different.”

”Oh, really?” Cesc peels himself off the wall, walking towards him, slowly, his eyes glued to Robin. 

” _There is no excuse for leaving Arsenal_ ,” he quotes Robin’s own words back to him, mockingly. ”Wasn’t that what you said when I left for Spain?”

Robin doesn’t move, holds his ground even as Cesc nears him.

”You were the one that changed the rules,” he says, lowly. 

Cesc sneers.

”Fuck you, Robin. Fuck. You. Don’t fucking put this one me, don’t- -”

”Don’t what?” Robin interrupts, voice calm even as Cesc is so obviously angry, definitely invading his personal space now.

”Don’t make this my fault,” Cesc continues, quietly now, fisting his hands in Robin’s shirt again but this time it’s harder, more violent, as he tugs the Dutchman close against him. ”Don’t you fucking dare make this my fault. It was you who ended this. You were the one who said we couldn’t be. You were the one…” 

He trails off, his head dropping forward against Robin’s shoulder, his body tensed as if ready to snap.

Robin trails a hand up Cesc’s back, light and soft touches as he lets it rub a little against his neck before he trails it further up, his fingers curling into Cesc’s hair as he pulls his head back. It feels wrong, Cesc’s hair too short and too coarse and it doesn’t provide the same grip that it used to. 

It does what it’s supposed to though and Cesc tips his head back, his throat bare, and Robin pushes his lips against that throat, teeth grazing his skin before he pulls back again, grip still tight.

”It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he says, almost softly, before he lets go, pushing Cesc towards the bed with the force.

The Spaniard stumbles, his breath catching a little bit as he sits down on the edge of the bed.

”No?”

Robin doesn’t bother replying as he follows the midfielder, pushing him down on his back on the bed before crawling over him.

Cesc goes willingly, always pliant under Robin’s bruising grip and he doesn’t even try to put up a fight as the Dutchman removes his clothes. His breathing grows slightly more erratic as Robin touches him, a hand cupping him through his underwear before pulling them off completely.

Cesc moans, softly, lifting his to grind against Robin and he doesn’t want to think about consequences or where this leaves them. All he wants to focus on is the feel of Robin against him and he runs his nails sharply down the Dutchman’s back, scratching.

Robin moans hotly, using one hand to pin Cesc against the mattress and the other one to undo his trousers as he pushes them down over his hips.

He spits into his palm, using the saliva to slick himself up before pushing against Cesc’s entrance. Never one for being careful and this was no difference as he doesn’t bother preparing him - just thrusts inside and Cesc twists underneath him - pain and pleasure mixing in a way that he hadn’t felt in so long.

He chokes back a cry as Robin starts moving, not needing much to find that spot inside Cesc which makes him see stars. 

Cesc’s breath hitches, his whole body burning with desire, pain and pleasure in a beautiful mix as he grinds up against Robin, his cock trapped between them. Robin reaches down, his fingers curling along the Spaniard’s length and he strokes him almost lazily, a stark contrast to the way he’s pounding into him over and over again.

Cesc feels the familiar pull at his balls, the tingling at the bottom of his spine and the heat pool in his groin as he fists his hands into the sheets, choking back a loud moan.

He’s so close, so very close, and he hates the fact that Robin can reduce him to nothing within seconds, that it’s not even difficult for him to do so. Cesc’s breath hitches as he twists, turns, hating the fact that his body betrays him like this but truth is that he just can’t stay angry with the Dutchman as long as he touches him like this.

He mewls, pathetically, making a soft noise of warning before the orgasm hits him. He jerks, clenching around Robin before he other man also lets go, coming with a low groan, his face pressed against Cesc’s neck. 

Robin shudders against him, barely giving himself a moment to catch his breath - mostly because he doesn’t trust himself - so he pulls away, straightening up. He uses the bedspread to wipe himself off, tugging his jeans back up and fastening them.

Cesc doesn’t move, his breathing still uneven and the orgasm makes his brain foggy but he does whine uselessly when Robin pulls away.

The Dutchman doesn’t look at him though, just grabs his keys, phone and wallet so that he can stuff everything into his pockets. He makes for the door, not even a glance back at the Spaniard who is still sprawled naked on the bed.

He opens the door, so close to leaving before he stops for half a beat, exhaling softly.

”It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he repeats again, quietly, but he doesn’t look at Cesc as he leaves, letting the door close with a thud behind him.

Cesc watches him, his body still flushed, as he lets his head drop down against the bed with a thud and a low groan.

”I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> I mean no harm. This is all fiction.


End file.
